The Pups of the Baskervilles
by ApocalypseCat
Summary: AU where Sherlock and John are 13 and on a residential trip to Dartmoor. The case of the Hound of the Baskervilles but slightly changed. Rated for theme of fear.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

* * *

"I'm bored," Sherlock said to John in his best whiny, thirteen year old voice.

"Sherlock, not now; we're in the middle of a Physics lesson, and it's nearly the end of the day," John hissed, still struggling to remember if the Earth revolved around the sun or if it was the other way around.

"John, this is useless! I'm just going to delete it _anyway_," Sherlock complained while John rolled his eyes, yet hiding a smile. They continued arguing in this fashion until interrupted by the teacher.

"Sherlock! Would you care to repeat what I just said?" The teacher asked in a snobbish manner.

"No, sir, I would not care to," Sherlock replied without hesitating. John put his face in his hands as Sherlock continued, "This is, quite frankly, completely useless. Besides, you don't need to take out your anger on me; it's not my fault your wife is having an affair with the geography teacher."

"Sherlock Holmes, if you do not stop talking _right _now, you will be in detention for the _rest of the week_!" The teacher snarled. Sherlock took a breath in.

* * *

And so he got detentions for the rest of the week. John was patiently waiting for him in their dormitory when Sherlock burst in:

"You weren't here in registration," John said.

"I now have detention for _two _weeks," Sherlock replied with a sarcastic smile as John sighed.

"Well, we were told about this four day trip to Dartmoor later on this year. We got leaflets; I took one for you," John said, flinging the small booklet, "You could say 'thanks', mate."

"Thank you, Johnny boy," Sherlock said with a smirk as he saw John glaring at him. He texted Mycroft, who replied rapidly to say that he could go. Then, Sherlock asked if John could come, who took out his phone and started dialling. Sherlock gave him a curious look.

"With my mother, it just can't be done through text," John explained and they started sniggering again until John interrupted, "Oh my God, it's ringing – shut up!" He ordered then went into a very sweet voice, "Hey, Mum! How are you? ... Yeah, I just thought I'd call, you know, um, get news and stuff ... Oh, and uh, before I forget, there's this little thing ... no! I haven't got detention again Mum! ... Well you could at least be nice about it ... No, no I didn't say anything ... well you interrupted me, Mum! Okay, so we have this trip to Dartmoor for four days later on this year. It's, um, _essential _to the syllabus ... okay, fine, I _am _lying ... Yes, I know I'm a bad liar ... I really want to go on this trip! ... I'll do the laundry! ... I'll do the laundry when I come back! ... I'll make Christmas dinner! ... Gee, Mum, I only burnt it _once _... I'll uh, I'll uh ... really? ... Deal! Love you, Mum, bye!" John hung up and grinned at Sherlock.

"What are the terms and conditions?" Sherlock asked.

"I have to clean my room when I come back, but that's it!" John said happily.

"John, your room is a _dump_," Sherlock said, "Your mum knows how to haggle!" He said, laughing and John glowered.

"Maybe, but I can go!" John returned to his happy self. Sherlock grinned and lifted his hand up for a high-five, which John returned.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N forgot to do this last chapter :S DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN SHERLOCK HOLMES OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS. YOU HEAR THAT GENIE IN THE BOTTLE?**

**CHAPTER 2**

* * *

And so, three months later, here they were around a camp-fire after having settled down in their most cosy tents – sarcasm by the way.

"Let me tell you guys a story. It's the tale of ..." the student paused mysteriously, "The Hound of the Baskervilles." The constant muttering had disappeared, making for an uncomfortable silence.

"Once upon a time–" he started.

"What is this, a Disney fairytale–" an idiot interrupted, so everybody contributed in telling her to shut it.

"Centuries ago, on a Friday 13th, a farmer decided to search for better farm land; of course, he had to do this at night otherwise other farmers would catch him. So he set off into the moonless night. When he was searching, he found a hollow. It was misty, the floor was damp; it had just rained... Suddenly, he heard a growl. Then he saw huge footsteps. And last of all, he heard his own SCREAM," everybody jumped, "before being torn to shreds by the hound." John swallowed. An eerie hush had fallen on the students around the campfire.

"Sounds fun! Let's go investigate, John!" Sherlock broke the silence as John stared at him in complete shock.

"What?" John asked, "We are _not _going there, Sherlock!" He argued, but there was no point; Sherlock was already dragging him away to his doom.

* * *

When they reached their destination, the ground was still damp and dew lay on the leaves. The trees swayed in the muttering wind, the leaves whispering. The moonlight cast dancing shadows on the floor and the wraith of mist covered the features of the land, making them invisible. Dead leaves were scattered across the desolate path leading into the depths of the hollow, which was engulfed in darkness. Every rustling leaf, every snap of a twig seemed as clear as a gunshot to the adolescents. Fog curled from the rapid breaths of the two young teenagers as they stood in Dewar's hollow.

Suddenly, a shrieking howl pierced through the dead of night.

Sherlock and John snapped to one side and then the other, trying to decipher the source of the noise. They didn't dare speak; especially when the howling came closer and closer. The two boys looked at each other. With some sort of mind telepathy, they grabbed each others' hands and ran.

* * *

**A/N sorry, that chapter was a bit short. Next chapter will hopefully be posted in a few days and will hopefully be longer! Please review. **


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

* * *

The next day, when Sherlock and John emerged from their tent, most students were already gathered around breakfast tables; which explained why most of the food at the self-service had disappeared.

"Hey John! How was the trip to the hollow last night?" A boy asked, smirking.

"It was great," John said sarcastically. Thankfully, before the kid could reply, Sherlock started to speak to him again. Well, speaking wasn't the right term: John was more like a wall that Sherlock bounced ideas off.

"You know, John, I'm thinking about it, and are you sure we heard howling?" Sherlock asked while John gaped at him.

"You're actuallythinking we imagined _that_?" John said incredulously.

"Yes, I am. We didn't find any footsteps," Sherlock explained to John, "So the only thing we can do is go back," then seeing the look on John's face, he added, "when it's day."

"That makes it all better," John rolled his eyes.

"Are you scared?" The kid who had spoken earlier now joined their table, and then his friends joined him.

"Of course he's not, let's go John," Sherlock replied before John could say a thing, and in a way he was grateful because whatever answer he would have given, there would be consequences.

"I'll pass," John said simply, although he knew that Sherlock wouldn't stop nagging until he said yes. However that said, John wanted to prove a point: that he didn't feel particular joy at eventually agreeing to do this.

"John!" Sherlock whined and John rolled his eyes and huffed.

"Fine," John muttered, crossed his arms and stalked off in direction of the hollow. When Sherlock didn't follow for a split-second, he called back, "You coming slow coach?"

So here they were again, in the exact place John had had nightmares about the last night. This certainly hadn't been one of Sherlock's brightest ideas. Although John did have to admit that by day, the hollow and its surroundings were quite picturesque. Then again, the fact that it was sunlight and not moonlight that filtered through the leaves did help an awful lot with the jovial mood.

Sherlock had departed to the other side of the hollow to check for any signs that there was, indeed, a dog. So John simply looked at the landscape. However, time ticked by very slowly, and Sherlock was taking an awfully long time. When John started to feel slightly chilly, he rolled up his sleeve to check his watch, but then realised that it was so dark that he couldn't see his watch. How long had they been there? And what was Sherlock up to?

John got up – his stiff muscles groaned – and went off in search of Sherlock. He assumed that he would probably be found before he could do any searching, but he was wrong; because Sherlock wasn't even searching.

No, sir. In fact, unknown to John, he was doing quite the opposite of searching. He was hiding. Hiding from what, you ask? Hiding from the hound.

* * *

No. It wasn't possible. It just wasn't. But apparently it was; because he had just seen it with his own eyes and his senses never failed him. _When you have eliminated the impossible ... _Could it be possible?_ Whatever remains ... _this was the only way, the only solution ... _no matter how mad it seems _... it was certainly mad ... but it ... _must be the truth. _

The legend of the Hound ... was not a legend.


	4. Chapter 4

"Sherlock!" John called. This was really getting tiring now, "Sherlock!" He sighed; Sherlock had probably gone back to the camp. Just as he was about to leave, he heard a faint call. He turned back and saw Sherlock running towards him, no _sprinting. _What was wrong with him? It wasn't like 'the hound' was chasing him. Besides, the hound was obviously not real. He could see it now. It was obvious: the legend was told; the idiots took advantage of them and pretended it was real.

"JOHN!" Sherlock screamed. John widened his eyes; Sherlock Holmes did _not _scream.

"What's going on, Sherlock?" John said, attempting to pacify Sherlock as he saw the latter boy's hands trembling. Then Sherlock shook his head and said that they should just go back to their tents; they would be late for dinner otherwise.

As they were eating, Sherlock ate even less than usual, whereas John simply stuffed his mouth – although that may have been due to the fact that he hadn't eaten since breakfast. Sherlock was very quiet; no showing off, no biting remarks. When they were walking back to their tent, John decided to tackle the subject.

"Sherlock, something's obviously up, what's the problem?" John asked, still munching on an apple.

"I saw the ... I saw ..." Sherlock took a breath in and whispered, "I saw the hound."

Way to break the mood, John started laughing, and then catching the expression on Sherlock's face, stopped immediately.

"Hang on; you're _not _kidding?" John exclaimed, "Sherlock what the ruddy hell is wrong with you?"

"_Nothing_ is wrong with me! I saw the hound, okay?" Sherlock screamed as John tried to calm him down with no success, "And I will _prove _to you! Look at that man over there, he–"

"No, Sherlock, don't do that. Come on, just go to bed, and you'll feel better in the morning, okay?" John said patronisingly.

"No, that is _not _okay, John! Don't order me around! You're not my mother! And I don't even listen to my mother anyway so shut up and give up the patronising act! I don't need your help! _I don't need _anybody's _help_!" Sherlock continued screaming at John, who this time did not attempt to calm Sherlock down. His eyes had steeled over with ice.

"Go die in a hole! Or better still, go die in the _hollow_ where the _hound_ will eat you alive!" John mocked and then stomped into the tent.


	5. Chapter 5

When John woke up, Sherlock was gone. He started to feel disappointed – Sherlock did everything with him – but then he remembered their fight last night and a feeling of bitterness welled up in his throat. He dressed and then headed over to breakfast. No sign of Sherlock there. John tried to not attract any attention and spend his breakfast in peace; sadly, no such thing was possible. The group of teenagers who had taunted them the day before surrounded him once again. They stared at John, smirking. After a few moments – John made sure it was timed perfectly so that they would catch the fantastic view of half chewed cereal in his mouth – he interrupted their trance.

"Yes?" He inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Where's your boyfriend?" One of the girls said, making kissy noises. John decided to ignore her; after all, some people were just hopeless.

"You know, I think he's gone down to ... the _hollow_," A boy said – he was obviously trying to scare John, and it evidently was not working and this plainly angered the boy. A lot of obvious facts there; Sherlock would be pleased.

"Maybe he's had an encounter with the hound," Another boy said. John chose the wise decision of ignoring him.

"Hey, is that screaming I hear?" One of the girls said, giggling. John stood up abruptly, and for a moment, he really did want to punch her in the face, but for many reasons decided not to. Then, he thought about what they were saying. They were obviously trying to taunt him, but what if their words had an element of truth in them? In that case ... John spun towards the woods and started running as fast as his legs would take him.

As he ran, John started having images of hounds, and he shook them out of his head. No sooner than he had, he heard howling; and he wasn't imagining it. He sprained his ankle; he forced himself not to think of the pain and kept running. His voice was becoming hoarse; he kept shouting. He tripped up on the roots of shadowy trees and slipped on the muddy leaves; he kept running. Suddenly, he heard a scream. He stopped for a second; looked around ... then ran faster than he had ever in his whole life.

Strangely, the hollow seemed almost beautiful one he reached it. He took the winding path down into the depths of the hollow. John widened his eyes.

The hollow was empty... except for one blue scarf in the middle. He fell to his knees and started sobbing. He screamed to the wind and to the clouds, covering up the sun.

"SHERLOCK!"


	6. Chapter 6

**So this is the answer to the sort of cliff-hanger? Last chapter is up! Hope you like it :3 Thank you SO much for all the reviews, favourites and subscriptions. I swear, I do a little dance every time. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock, or anything. Can you hear me genie in the bottle? **

* * *

Sherlock left the tent very early and quietly; after all, he didn't want to wake John up, and he wanted to be in the hollow only when it was day-time, and sunlight riddled through the layers of leaves. He had seen the hound; he was sure of it. His senses never lied to him; but still, he wanted to find evidence. _And you want to prove to John that you're not crazy, _a nagging voice said at the back of his brain, _that's ridiculous. I'm not crazy therefore there is nothing to prove to John, _Sherlock replied mentally. He just sighed and continued working. Mycroft had always told him that caring was not an advantage, and he was right.

When he reached the hollow, Sherlock looked around for any evidence whatsoever. Maybe he could use bait? He hesitated for a moment, and then dropped his blue scarf into the hollow.

He walked for a fair bit, and then noticed a huge footprint; this had to be it. He stared into it for a few moments. Sherlock kept gazing at this abnormally large footprint, because there was something wrong about it, something strange. It suddenly hit: there were finger marks on the outside of the print – someone had enlarged an original, much smaller footprint. Two questions were now burning in Sherlock's mind: Who and why? His mind filtered through all the options but it was suddenly interrupted.

Very faintly, he heard a call. That wouldn't have normally been important, but someone was calling his name. Faint as it was, Sherlock would recognise that voice anywhere.

"JOHN!" He shouted. Why was he here? Images of John being torn to pieces by the hound flashed before his eyes and he started to run. Sherlock had never been the sporty type, that was for sure, but he ran as fast as he could.

Sherlock burst into the hollow, rolling down the hill in his impatience to reach John, to find a hunched figure, sobbing into the ground next to a blue scarf; _his _blue scarf.

"John! Are you okay?" Sherlock demanded, falling down beside John and shaking his shoulders. John looked up at him and launched himself into his arms. Then, realising what he had done, he leaned back a bit but Sherlock held on. When Sherlock finally let go, his eyes were red.

"Yeah, I'm fine," John replied with a small smile, then he became agitated, "But what about you? What happened to you? I heard howling and screaming!"

"What? There wasn't a dog here ... how?" Sherlock was confused; and that was certainly something that didn't happen often. Suddenly, he had a 'light bulb' moment and leaned his head back and sighed, "Scotoma, John. The mind sees what it wants to see. In your case, _hears _what it wants to hear. As for the footprints, students who hate me enlarged them."

"Scotoma. What is this, _'The da Vinci code'_?" John said with a chuckle, which evolved into full laughter at Sherlock's blank face. "Maybe we should get going?" Sherlock nodded and the pair got up, walking slowly back to the tents; well, in John's case, hobbling on one foot and leaning on Sherlock for support.

"I _hate_ those guys!" John muttered as he tripped over a stone.

"Well, that's what you get for being my best friend," Sherlock replied with a grin. John smiled too: Sherlock claimed he didn't have friends, but he, John Watson, was Sherlock Holmes' best friend.

_FIN_

* * *

**I'm a sucker for happy endings :P Hope you liked the story! **

**xx ApocalypseCat**


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